


Damn These Vampires

by carmellax



Series: Damn These Vampires [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, F/F, aka the lesbian vampire slayers au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:15:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmellax/pseuds/carmellax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simplice and Fantine are lesbian vampire slayers and Cosette has been taken</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damn These Vampires

**Author's Note:**

> i'm really not down with vampire lore so let's just pretend that this makes sense

It was nearing midnight in Montreuil-sur-Mer: one of those dark midnights, where the moon is nothing more than a scratch of white, and the wind chases clouds in to stifle the stars. This kind of midnight seems always to augur bad – a robbery, a murder, something even worse. It’s the kind of midnight where families double-bolt their doors; where dogs are too frightened to bark; and nobody ventures out alone.

And yet, on this _particular_ midnight, a figure in the grave-yard proved an exception to this rule.

If there had been anybody around to watch – anybody with either exceptional night-vision, or a heavy-duty flashlight – they would have been able to identify the figure as a solitary woman. She was perhaps twenty years old, but – then again – perhaps forty, and wore a plain, puritanical dress and heavy boots. Her hair was scraped back in a tight bun, and – as she paused beneath a yew tree to examine the headstone at its foot – she stroked absently at a wooden crucifix about her neck.

But there was nobody around to watch her.  Nobody human, at least.

A faint rustling in the branches overhead caused her to look up. Her face was difficult to read, whether due to the darkness or some other factor, but she didn’t quite look scared or curious, as most people would have. If anything, her expression was one of challenge, as if she dared the tree to do its worst.

Another rustle. Then a creak.

The woman took a few quick steps back, just in time to avoid a dark shape, falling from above. It dropped from the yew tree in the same way that treacle oozes from a spoon.

With a cracking noise, the shape folded outwards and consolidated itself into something humanoid: one might have called it a man, if it weren’t for the red fires that boiled in the place of eyes, and a smile that was more of a gash, where pearly skin stretched back over stiletto-point canines.

“Didn’t your father ever warn you ‘gainst going out alone?” asked the not-man, his voice sibilant and low, as he began to move towards the woman.

“Oh,” said the woman, giving a faint smile that seemed ill-fitting of the situation, “You misunderstand. It is on my Father’s bidding that I am here.”

Before the not-man could consider this, she reached into a pocket of her dress, and whipped out a pistol. She aimed it at his head, hand steady.

The not-man looked momentarily impressed, but didn’t falter in his approach. “Not bad,” he said, “Shame for you that bullets won’t stop me.”

“Bullets?” asked the woman, frowning as if the suggestion was ridiculous. “No: this is a water pistol.”

The not-man paused now. He seemed thrown off his centre. “Beg pardon?”

“It’s a water pistol; a Super Soaker, actually. So it hasn’t any bullets.”

“You’re gonna fire water at me?”

The woman smiled again, in a way that made the not-man take a half-step backwards. “I’m going to fire _holy_ water at you,” she told him. And then she pulled the trigger.

A jet of water shot from the nozzle, hitting the not-man precisely between his eyes. The effect was immediate: his face erupted into a sizzling mess, throwing out clouds of acrid steam, and he fell to his knees, howling like a wounded animal.

The woman nodded approvingly, and then made a gesture with her hand.

From behind a nearby tombstone, another woman appeared – this one wearing a fantastic pair of leather trousers, and with her blonde hair tightly cropped. She strode confidently over to stand beside the first woman, and regarded the shrieking creature with disgust.

“He’s all yours, Fantine,” said the first woman to her companion.

Fantine responded by aiming a powerful kick at the not-man’s chest, sending him sprawling. Then she planted her foot on his neck, pressing down.

“Listen up, bloodsucker,” she said, addressing her prisoner. “I’m going to ask a few questions about you and your vampire buddies. It’ll be much more pleasant for everyone involved if you answer nicely the first time around – it’s not like I want to hurt you, after all.”

“Now, now, Fantine,” the other woman cautioned, “One shouldn’t tell lies.”

“Quite right, Simplice. I _do_ want to hurt you, vamp. But I’ll hurt you a bit less if you answer nicely.”

The vampire – as this was, apparently, the species of the not-man – glared up at Fantine, his eyes glittering with malice, and said nothing.

“Firstly, what do you know of a girl named Cosette?”

Understanding crossed what was left of the vampire’s face, and he bared his teeth in a leer. “You must be mummy.”

Fantine pressed down with her heel. “Where’s my daughter?”

“How would I know?”

“You are a known accomplice of the coven that took her,” said Fantine, ignoring his insolence. “The Thénardiers. Tell me where they are.”

The vampire spat at her boot.

“Simplice,” said Fantine, turning to the other woman, who still held her water pistol. “If you’d be so kind?”

Simplice stepped forwards, and aimed the gun once more at the vampire’s head.

“Where’s my daughter?” Fantine repeated.

The vampire’s eyes darted between the nozzle of the gun, and Fantine’s determined face, as if calculating his chances. Then he scowled, and nervously ran a forked tongue over his lips. “Last I heard, they was in Montfermeil,” he said eventually.

“We’ve been to Montfermeil,” said Fantine, “And they were long gone. I think you’re lying. Simplice, what’s the feeling on lying, again?”

Simplice shook her head sadly. “It’s the absolute form of evil,” she said, without a touch of irony. “Perhaps another shower could wash some virtue into him, though.” Her finger tightened on the trigger.

The vampire gulped. “I swear it’s the truth. They was still at that inn. Though,” he added, with a glance at Simplice, “There might have been some talk of moving.”

“To?” Fantine demanded.

“Not sure. Maybe Paris, but they hadn’t decided – that’s all I know, I swear to God!”

“God!” echoed Simplice. “What does a child of Lucifer know about God?”

The vampire flinched at the venom in her voice. “I didn’t mean no offence,” he quickly assured her. “You’re right, I don’t know about no God. But I can see you do, from that thingy on your necklace,” he went on, squinting at her crucifix. “So you’ll show me some of that godly mercy, right?”

Fantine and Simplice exchanged a glance, and then Simplice nodded slowly. “Of course we’ll show you mercy. Fantine, please demonstrate mercy to this gentleman.”

Fantine removed her foot from the vampire’s neck.

He drew in a ragged breath, but didn’t move, eyeing Simplice suspiciously. “What, just like that? You’ll let me live?”

“We’ll show you mercy,” Simplice said again. She paused for a moment. “By killing you quickly.”

And then Fantine plunged the wooden stake, which had been concealed in her sleeve, into the vampire’s heart. He didn’t even have time to look surprised.

After a few moments, the corpse crumbled into a foul powder.

Simplice returned the water pistol to her pocket, and then crossed herself swiftly in a silent prayer. “What a waste of time,” she commented. “But at least that makes one demon less in the world. Come on; we’d better return, before M Madeline comes looking for us.” She turned to go.

Fantine didn’t follow: just stood there, staring down at the pile of dust. The corners of her eyes glittered a little, as if she was holding back tears.

Simplice paused, turning to her again. Then she smiled gently, and reached out to take Fantine’s hand, brushing a thumb over the other woman’s knuckles. “We’ll find her,” she promised, voice suddenly soft.

“What if we don’t?”

“I _know_ that we will,” said Simplice, “And when have I ever lied to you?”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if you think i should write more of this i have some stuff in my head but i'm not sure whether or not to do it, you know?


End file.
